The Twelve Kingdoms (42 page)

“I'm not a demented idiot,” Zevondeth snapped and, leaning heavily on her cane, made her way to the fireplace.

“The last time we spoke, you—”

“Camouflage.” She glared in my direction and cocked her head. “Best way to hide out from the Practitioners of Deyrr, to be beneath their notice.”

“You knew who she was?”

“Tried to warn you, didn't I? More the fool you for not listening. Will you take the rest of my advice now?”

I slid a cautious glance at Harlan, who listened with interest, and was glad I'd elicited his promise.

“That may not be necessary. Illyria is destroyed and her magic fading.”

Zevondeth shook her head and muttered under her breath. She took something from the mantel and made her way to me, then set a trio of glass vials on the table. “We shall make a trade, then. I'll tell you a way into Uorsin's self-imposed prison in exchange for your blood.” Faster than she should have been, she snagged my wrist and struck out with a small, sharp knife.

Not faster than I could move, however, easily slipping her grip even as Harlan stepped forward. “Here, now,” he barked.

She grinned at him, showing missing teeth and total fearlessness. “No blood. No information.”

“Take mine, then.”

“You're a handsome one, Captain Harlan of Dasnaria, and your blood no doubt stalwart, but I need hers.” She pointed at the vials. “To complete the set. One, two, three. The soil, the seed, and you.”

“I don't understand.”

“A bow alone is useless. Even a drawn bow is useless. Fit an arrow to it and you have something.”

“I'm the arrow.”

She nodded. “Danu's blade, poised to strike. Give me your blood, child, and you will see.”

“Fine.”

“Ursula, you—”

“No, Harlan. It's all right. I think I need to do this.
I
will do it.” Taking the blade from Zevondeth, I made a cut on my left forearm, where the small wound wouldn't interfere with gripping my weapons. My blood dripped bright into the glass container she handed me. It was cold, unnaturally so. And in those milky white eyes I glimpsed a canny glitter. She took the vial, gnarled fingers catching it gingerly, fitted it into the little rack, between the other two, the ones that held Ami's and Andi's blood, and said some sort of prayer over it.

Or spell.

Then she presented it to me with a bow. “With this I divest myself of an old obligation,” she intoned. “Give my regards to Salena.” As if that had removed the starch from her bones, she visibly withered and her gaze went truly blind, hand groping in the air. Della neatly inserted herself under it, helping Zevondeth toward the bedroom. “So cold,” the old woman whimpered.

“We'll light a fire and get you under the blankets,” Della crooned.

“Wait—what am I to do with this?” I called after them. I thought Zevondeth wouldn't answer. Then she slapped a hand on the doorframe and looked back at me, opaque eyes as bright as a bird's.

“Remember,” she said.

“What about the way to Uorsin?”

She pointed at the vials, then disappeared into the bedroom.

R
emember.
Remember what? Something Salena had told me, surely. But, Danu take it, if I hadn't thought of this important thing in all these years, then how was I to force myself to recall it now? I even retrieved the doll, tempted to tear the thrice-damned thing apart, knowing full well it contained nothing more than it ever had.

I paced a restless circuit in my rooms, throwing my mind back to conversations with my mother, holding aside all the memories of my father that threatened to overpower them, at the same time willing someone to come and tell me Uorsin had emerged. I should really be down helping with the cleanup, overseeing that all the undead were dispatched, and dismantling whatever Illyria had used to make them. The smoke of burning flesh sweetened with the funeral oil of Glorianna's rites filtered in the window, reminding me of all that went on that needed tending to.

Remember what? I thought of my early childhood and Mother brushing my hair, then Uorsin shattering the teacups. No. I thought of her pregnant with Andi, staring off to the west and Uorsin knocking me cold with the flat of his blade. No, no. And then she was gone and he . . . No, no, no!

I couldn't evoke one set of memories without drowning in the others, and it made my head ache.

“Ursula.” Harlan was prying my fingers from my skull. “Essla,” he repeated, holding my hands in his, gaze boring into mine with such concern that I realized he'd been trying to talk to me for a while. Had I forgotten he was there?

“I'm fine.”

He didn't bother to argue. “The more you strain for this memory, the more it will elude you. Sit.”

I let him seat me and thought longingly of some wine. Going behind me, he worked the tight cords of my neck. “Tell me your favorite memory of her.”

“I've thought about that one and—”

“Shh. Relax. Just tell me about it. How old were you?”

“Seven. My seventh birthday.”

“Ah. I bet you were adorable.”

I had to laugh. “Not exactly. I got my growth early, so I was too tall, knobby kneed and clumsy with it.” A noise from the hall caught my attention. Had Uorsin emerged? Had something happened? But whoever it was passed by.

“How did you celebrate? What season is your natal day?”

“Midsummer. We went on a picnic, just the two of us. It was never only the two of us, really.”

“Next summer perhaps you and I should do that on your birthday. How old will you be?”

I had to think about it. “Twenty-nine.” It seemed impossible to imagine, both my age and the prospect of a summer when I might picnic with Harlan. “This is a waste of time. Let's try a battering ram.”

“They're trying it. We'll get word if there's news. You can't force your way through everything, my hawk. Tell me about the birthday picnic. What else made it special?”

“She gave me the Star that day. Told me I would need it. She said . . .” My gaze went to the topaz gleaming in the light, embedded in the hilt of my sword, lying next to the sprawled doll, with her stuffing hanging out, and the three vials of blood.

When I rose, Harlan didn't stop me. I made my way back to the bookshelf, to the foolish doll bed I'd made and kept her in, hidden away with other girlish things. And withdrew the gown I hadn't bothered to put back on her the last time. Silver, dulled by time, but silver. Like the armored gown. What had happened in the dream? I'd been like the doll, dressed in the gown, unable to move, to draw my sword, to touch the jewel, the Star she'd given me.

“Would you help me?” He immediately stepped to my side. I handed him my sword. “Can you pry the jewel out?”

He frowned, rotating it, running a big thumb over the forged metal that held it in place. “It will take some strength.”

“Good thing I know someone who's got some.”

He grunted, mind absorbed in the problem, then took the sword to the stone windowsill, setting it so the hilt faced in, and unsheathed his big-bladed knife. Shoulders flexing, he worked at the setting, the metal gradually giving way under his might. He slipped twice, scoring the stone and likely ruining his blade. From that day on I would forever see those stone scars and remember how he did what I asked without question or complaint.

With a creak of metal fatigue, the setting gave way, the topaz sphere popping out to hit the floor and roll to my feet. I took it up and, remembering how the head of Ami's doll had turned red in response to blood, set the Star inside my doll's head. Then I opened the three vials and poured our combined blood over the jewel, letting it soak in.

Nothing happened. The dull edge of panic began to set in.

I wiped sweat from my forehead, aware of being overheated from Zevondeth's rooms, forgetting that my hands were covered in blood. It tingled against my skin, like Ash's healing, like Andi's magic. I stared at my hand, bright with my blood, with that of my sisters. It was not enough to have the blood on me. No holding what I had to do at arm's length. Steeling myself, I licked the blood from my hands.

I stood in the empty throne room of Ordnung. It rung with silence and for a moment I thought everyone had died. But no, someone sat on the High Throne behind me. Uorsin? I tried to turn to see, sickness rising at the thought of him behind me, hurting me. But no. I couldn't move, for I wore that silver-plated gown. Throttling me. Holding me trapped.

“Let it be your strength,” a voice said. My mother's voice. Hearing it sliced at my heart, and all I wanted was to see her face again. “Move through, not against, my daughter.”

On the doll, the silver gown was only cloth, worn thin by time. I stopped fighting it. Accepted it and the fit. And turned. And moved.

Salena smiled at me from the High Throne. A new one, made of carved wood inlaid with jeweled fruits and flowers as I'd seen in Annfwn. Her hair cascaded dark around her, and her eyes, lit with love for me, glowed nearly silver.

“I'm so proud of you, Ursula. Your path has been a long and difficult one. I would have spared you, if I could.”

“So you said once.” Some bitterness edged up the back of my throat. “I suppose even you couldn't see everything that would occur.”

“But I did.” Her face contorted with grief. “Not soon enough. And when the future shifted, when I saw what could happen to you, I tried to stop it.”

“When? I don't understand.” I took a step toward her. “This is a dream.”

“Dreams are just a different reality. I died, yes, but I'm still nearby.”

“In the bower of Glorianna's arms?” I couldn't help saying it, imagining Ami glaring at me for it.

Salena made a wry face I recognized as one of Andi's expressions. “I don't think Glorianna would have me—or that Moranu would release me to her. But no, I'm closer than that. I've always been with you.”

“The Star,” I realized.

“Yes. When I saw the probability of my death, I anchored myself to it. It's not an exact thing, but it's worked well enough. It's let me create messages for your sisters. And to stay, for the end game.”

“What is that?”

She regarded me steadily. “I think you know.”

“This was your game. Never mine. Why didn't you finish it?”

“The time had to be right. You three had to be ready. You, my daughters, can do what I could not.”

“Do what? What did you hope to accomplish by leaving everything and everyone behind?”

“Only the King can save the land. That is his sacred duty. His destiny. Ask Andromeda—if she's come into her own, she'll see the truth of it. Ask Amelia—if she's come into her own, she'll know how to do it. All the land requires this. Annfwn, the Twelve, the greater world. Danu's blade lit by Glorianna's mercy will set Moranu's magic free.”

“I don't know what to do.” I pleaded with her, and my dress began to feel tight, restrictive.

“No man or woman is above the law, and the world is greater than all else. Your loyalty belongs to the world first. Andromeda knows of wisdom and sacrifice. Amelia brings the love that's needed. You are the blade that cuts through the knots and lances the wound. You know what to do. You always have.”

“I don't know.” I fought against the hardening gown. “I can't even get to Uorsin.”

She smiled. Not at all nicely.

“Leave that to me.”

I shoved hard against the confining armored gown and met with the rock-hard wall of Harlan's chest. He grunted, a break in the Dasnarian lullaby he picked up again, singing it softly as if I weren't thrashing like a wild woman in his arms.

Going still, I tried to assimilate what had happened, and he tipped my chin up in a panicked grip, relaxing when he looked into my eyes.

“You're back. I was terrified you never would be.”

He admitted to such things so easily. Not something I could understand, maybe ever. And yet it made him no weaker in my eyes. Stronger really.

“How long was I out?”

“Hours.” He nodded at the window, the autumn dusk falling sooner. In another hour or so the sun would set and the waxing moon rise to light the fields.

Harvest time. I shivered, wondering if I could face what lay ahead. I would have to consult with Andi and Ami about my dream. What Salena had told me.

A bellow of rage, not unlike that of a wounded bear, echoed down the corridors. I knew what it was before Marskal flung open the doors to my chambers, not even blinking at the sight of me entangled on Harlan's lap.

“Captain.” He nodded instead of saluting. “He's out.”

“Heading which way?”

“Throne room.” He stopped me at the door with a hand on my arm. “He injured Jepp—nearly gutted her. And a maid bringing food. I think he's out of his mind.”

“Danu.” I took a moment to send a fervent prayer for her guidance. The pommel of my sword was jagged metal now. Nothing to be done for it. But I needed to keep the Star with me, of that much I was certain. Another bellow, followed by distant screams, raked down my spine. Without much time to consider, I put it in my mouth and swallowed.

Far from choking me, it went down smoothly, burning warm in my gut and dissolving the old fears, the new terrors. I would face what lay ahead because I had to.

I raced through the halls, Harlan at my back, as always.

The throne room stood nearly empty. Not unnaturally so, but because everyone had fled. The gore and shattered glass had been cleaned away. Perhaps superstitiously, I looked to the thrones, the familiar lineup of five. No single throne of vines and flowers.

No Salena. Of course not.

The Star burned in my stomach. Uorsin, unkempt as a madman, stood in the center of the room, sword pointed at Amelia's belly as he shouted incoherently about his heir. Andi and Rayfe, both with weapons in their hands, restrained Ash, who seemed about to explode with rage, his green eyes bright even from my vantage point.

Andi, seeming unsurprised to see me skid in, gave me a solemn nod.

“High King Uorsin!” I called out.

Though I hadn't spoken that loudly, my voice nevertheless cut through his shouts. He spun and stared at me with fury in his eyes.

“Traitor,” he growled, gaze going to the circlet still banding my brow. “Think you to assassinate me along with my queen?”

“Not your queen, but an enemy of the Twelve,” I replied. “She killed even Derodotur, your most faithful companion and adviser. She was the enemy, not us. How can you not see that?”

“She would have opened the doors to Annfwn. My destiny. She only needed the Star and she could have given me what your mother refused to. You had it all along, didn't you? Never did I think you'd betray me. My eldest. My heir.”

“I've never betrayed you. I've only ever acted for the good of the High Throne.”

“I
am
the High Throne!” He thundered the words. “You might as well question the sun as doubt me.”

“You're a man.” As I said the words, the truth came clear. “A human being. And the High Throne is only as good as the person who sits on it. You have not done good by our people. I'm asking you to abdicate.”

He seemed to froth with rage. “Are you?” Uorsin's voice had gone that dead quiet. “So you can have the power? You're no better than I am.”

“Or Astar or Stella,” I answered him. “It cannot be yours any longer. You're not worthy of it.”